


Supernova

by snowpuppies



Category: BtVS - Fandom
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/F, F/M, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: When the events of Season Five go differently, Riley comes to help.





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **Title** : Supernova  
>  **Author** : [](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/)**snowpuppies**  
>  **Fandom** : BtVS  
>  **Character/Pairing** : Willow/Riley  
>  **Genre** : Angst/Dark  
>  **Rating** : R, hard  
>  **Highlight for Warnings** : ** gore, torture, consensual sex**  
>  **Distribution** : Please don't archive or distribute without asking.  
>  **Summary** : When the events of Season Five go differently, Riley comes to help.  
>  **Word Count** : 2,686 words  
>  **x-posted to** : TBA
> 
>  **A/N** : for the wonderful Gabrielle for her LJversary! Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [](http://snogged.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**snogged**](http://snogged.dreamwidth.org/), thanks so much, honey!
> 
>  

 

 

 

> Riley's doing recon on a nest of Gworash Demons terrorizing the local farmers when he gets the news: the Apocalypse (yes, the real deal) has come, with Sunnydale as its epicenter.
> 
> He knows _she_ was right in the middle.
> 
> And if news has reached him all the way in South America, he knows she's gone.
> 
> As much as he _knows_ it was over, his heart aches for what might have been.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> He joins a team—not knowing if masochism or loyalty has him winging his way back to the scene of his greatest mistakes—and briefs his fellow soldiers on his knowledge of the area, history and schematics, leaving off the personal details.
> 
> It's still too raw to contemplate, and it's not information that will be useful anyways.
> 
> They arrive at headquarters—not the Initiative base, he's sure it's been overrun by now—but in a run-down warehouse on the outskirts of town.
> 
> It's chaos.
> 
> A war zone.
> 
> They're not prepared.
> 
> Not even a little.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> It doesn't surprise him when their first mission goes to hell. Literally.
> 
> They've hatched a plan to plant explosives underneath the nesting site of a flock of giant lizard-bird demons with wings and claws and scaly, pronged tails. Using their limited intel—even the knowledge gained from the Initiative's massive databases doesn't include creatures from other dimensions—they extrapolate that these creatures form an integral link in the developing demon ecosystem, and taking them out becomes top priority.
> 
> The mission actually goes as planned—targets unaware, operatives unidentified, charges laid, remote detonators synched—until they detonate.
> 
> The building goes up in a spray of fiery debris, merchandise from an abandoned department store falling to the ground like leaves on a warm autumn day.
> 
> For a moment, grim satisfaction blossoms in his chest as his comrades whoop and congratulate each other.
> 
> Then—over the din of their voices—he hears the flapping.
> 
> He knows the sound will haunt his dreams forever—if he survives long enough to dream, that is—a harsh, rhythmic grating of scaled wings against the atmosphere, steady like war drums, inevitable.
> 
> They run.
> 
> He pushes the others ahead, squad leader to the core, and watches as one by one, they dive into the sewers.
> 
> He leaps to join them.
> 
> He's seized out of the air, breath leaving his lungs as he lurches in the demon's grasp.
> 
> He watches the ground get farther and farther away.

 

 

 

 

He opens his eyes to a blur of grey and red, accompanied by the sickening lurch of his stomach in time with his pounding heart. Blinking away the fog, his vision focuses; he wishes he'd just shut his eyes.

His surroundings are all grey, as predicted—concrete walls, floors, heavy iron bars, stainless steel tables and cupboards—but they've been generously splattered with blood—crimson stains running toward the drains, arterial spray against the walls, slow drip from the edge of a table. He suppresses the urge to vomit, although he's pretty sure the smell won't get much worse if he does.

He struggles to sit, shifting back until he's against the bars of the…cage, one in a series of a half-dozen, at least. Each appears to be identical—about 10 feet square—although some are occupied by up to five humans—all in varying degrees of nakedness—while others are curiously empty.

There is a figure slumped to his right, curled up against the far side of the enclosure; he takes in the fangs and ridges and his heart leaps in his throat—fear or arousal, he can't distinguish—but his alarm subsides when the creature's eyes slip shut and it collapses. To his left—

His breath stops for a moment, certain his eyes are deceiving him, but blinking and rubbing don't change what he sees.

It's Willow. She's paler than he's ever seen, hair matted and more brown than red, green eyes huge against sunken cheeks, lips and fingers cracked and bleeding. She's totally bare, xylophone-ribs smudged with grime and muck, and appears to be completely unconcerned with the fact. She stares vacantly, not acknowledging his presence.

"Willow?" His voice cracks, sounding strained, and he wonders how long he was unconscious.

She jerks at the sound, blinking twice, and then slowly turns to face him.

"Oh. Hey." Her mouth quirks at the corner, not even remotely a smile. He arrests her movement as she starts to turn away again.

"Willow. What happened here? Where are the others? Where are we?"

A flicker of some unreadable emotion flashes across her gaze before the blankness returns. Shrugging, she answers: "Hell."

 

***

 

The first "meal"—and he uses the term loosely because even for a guy used to cold MRE's, the mush is unpalatable—is served, close as he can tell by the increased activity of the demons around them, the next morning.

Same as everything, it's grey. Gelatinous and strangely stringy in parts, he doesn't identify it as "food" until the others scramble for the trays. He watches in morbid fascination as Willow scoops her portion into her mouth, slimy tendrils sliding between her fingers to glop back to the tray if she doesn't manage to slurp them up before gravity takes over. After licking her fingers clean, she bends over and cleans the tray.

She turns, gaze fixed and hard—bearing an awareness he's not seen in her since he's arrived—and commands, "Eat."

He pokes at the gruel while Willow eyes their vampire companion. When the creature makes no move, she snatches the bag of blood from the other tray and rips into it, sucking the viscous fluid back without hesitation. He gapes as the blood drips from her chin.

He pushes himself to eat—knows he has to keep his strength up—and manages a bite and a half before pushing the mess away.

Willow devours it all and licks her lips.

 

***

 

"They're gone." He jumps at the sudden sound of her voice, puzzling through the words—the first she's spoken since the day before when she commanded him to eat—until he realizes she's answering his question from earlier.

"R&D, I think. Lots of experiments."

"Oh." He tries not to think of the comparison to the Initiative—he knows what they'd done to demons, and now he's the lab rat.

"Yeah. They like to play with my magic."

"Yeah?"

"Feels like my spine's being ripped out," she comments blandly, flicking a flake of what looks like dried blood from her thigh.

He doesn't comment; he knows that with his luck, he'll get to experience the torture for himself.

"It was a Hellgod."

He blinks as she picks up the explanation again, mentally jumping to follow.

"Wanted to use Dawn to open a portal to a hell dimension. Couldn't stop her. They all...died." Her voice cracks on the last word, the first hint of any emotion he's seen from her since waking up in hell. Slightly unnerved at the thought of touching bare skin uninvited, he gently settles his arm over her shoulders. She leans heavily into the embrace, naked limbs falling across his chest and lap, but her eyes remain dry.

 

***

On Day Three—he capitalizes the event in his head, knowing each moment he survives is another step closer, whether to freedom or torture, he's not sure—he finds a splinter stuck in the seam of his pocket. He thinks it might be a remnant of a pencil, or maybe even a toothpick, but it pokes him in an unpleasant way and he removes it from its hiding place.

He studies the piece carefully, eyes flickering to the vampire in the corner; the creature hasn't moved since he's arrived, not spoken or even appeared to be alive.

Being a lab-rat himself is enough to foster a tiny grain of pity and he tosses the splinter toward the creature; he'll let it decide its own fate. Better than he's getting, at any rate.

The creature's eyes pop open as the wood hits the cement. In an instant, the once death-still vampire is moving, limbs churning as it grasps the tiny piece between trembling fingers. It tears at its own chest, flesh ripping away under jagged nails, grunts and gasps of pain ignored as its ribs are exposed. Pale, thin fingers grapple against bone, sluggish black blood oozing between the ribs, dripping from the back of a hand. A roar of agony fills the area as a rib breaks. Whimpering, the vampire pushes the splinter into cardiac muscle.

A shower of dust coats the floor.

His stomach churns.

 

***

 

The next morning, he wakes up and she's gone. He's initially gripped with panic until he remembers the steady flow of creatures in and out of the pens, carted to and from the experimentation chambers by demons and monsters that make his flesh crawl.

He huddles against the back wall of the cage, alone now that the vampire's dusted itself and Willow's gone.

Clenching his eyes tightly shut, he prays that she'll return soon.

What shape she'll be in....well, he's seen the others.

 

***

 

She returns in one piece, eyes wide and unseeing. He pulls her close, wondering what exactly magical torture entails and not really wanting to know. She remains stiff in his embrace, not acknowledging his presence.

He feels tears prick at his eyes; he hates feeling so helpless, so trapped. They need to get out, quickly.

As if reading his thoughts, Willow speaks: "T-Tara didn't die right away." She stumbles over the name, tears pooling in blank, empty eyes. "At the beginning, we fought. I..I tried to get us out, but…" She trails off, looking down at her hands. "They caught us."

Fear curdles in his stomach; he doesn't want to ask, but as much as he really doesn't need to know, he can see that Willow needs to _tell_. "Yeah?"

"She'd been injured. Not too bad, you know, but she was the...damaged...one, and they..." A shiver flows through her body, jarring the arm around her shoulder. "They punished us," she whispers.

He doesn't need to know.

Thoughts of Xander and Tara and Buffy swirl through his head as his imagination fills in the details.

 

***

 

After about a week, they come for him, scaly claws gripping his hair, rotten garbage scent filling his senses and starting an unpleasant queasiness in his stomach.

Willow's already done her best to prepare him; as more and more of the humans in the surrounding cages began to disappear, she remarked casually, "You'll be next, you know. Don't fight them. It's worse if you fight."

He tries to follow her advice. Tries to remain docile and quiet as they drag him away, but the fear spreading through his limbs is too much to handle and he lashes out, fist striking the creature in the back of the knee, feet kicking out as another comes to help.

In moments, he's subdued, four monsters pinning him to blood-stained concrete while another lashes his hands and feet together, shoving a lump of metal in his mouth and tying it in place with a strap around his head. He groans in protest, wriggling in his bonds, but there's no give and he finally slumps to the floor, defeated.

Willow watches with wide eyes as they haul him away.

 

***

 

He screams when they drop him back in the cage, raw flesh from the stump of his thigh grating against the rough cement. He rolls in agony, remaining leg kicking him away from the demon that tossed him, until he rolls into _her_. She pulls him close, an arm tucked around his chest, as she examines the remnants of his leg.

The searing burn of cauterization echoes in his mind as she gently touches the wound and he flinches, burying his head in the soft skin of her stomach.

She pets his hair, nonsense noises falling softly from her mouth, and he allows the tears to fall, wrapping long arms around her waist to pull her even closer.

Ten minutes later, he falls into slumber, head cradled on her bare thigh.

 

***

 

It almost becomes routine: they come for him every three or four days, hack into his flesh, cut something off, remove bits and pieces of internal organs, and then dump him back into the cage where he falls into Willow's comfort.

On alternate days, they take Willow.

Somehow, they both keep surviving, grasping one another, lifelines in hell.

It's not living, but he doesn't know what else to do.

 

***

 

He's lost count of the days when she returns from the torture changed, but he knows right away that something's different.

She catches his gaze from outside the cage, once lifeless eyes burning with laser-like focus. They drop her inside and she scrambles forward, limbs wrapping and twisting around him as she falls into his lap, breaths soft against his cheek.

"Please." Her voice is soft, but underneath he recognizes the Willow he once knew, the strong and steadfast friend that never gave up, and something in his chest warms. He feels a strange tightness in his face and realizes that he's smiling.

She returns the expression and presses her lips against his mouth.

He sighs into the caress and lets his body fall to cover her. Somehow, she's still soft and beautiful and she gazes up at him with such faith, as if he could make everything better. Something alights in his gut and he surges into her, tasting her mouth until he can navigate through the bitter taste of despair and decay to catch the flicker of _life_ on her tongue.

Surprisingly, he's managed to get mostly hard, and it's enough. They've both been naked for days, and it's easy enough to slide right into her. He slumps against her chest, half-exhausted and half-overwhelmed at the feel of Willow stretched around him, settling into a steady roll of his hips. He doesn't have the energy for vigorous sex, but the drive to be _inside_ , to be connected, _alive_ , with another human being, with _this_ human being, with _Willow_ , strong, beautiful, fragile Willow, pushes him forward and he continues the rhythm until he spills.

He grunts as he rolls off, one hand trailing down her body to slip between her thighs where she's wet and slippery with his come. He fucks into her, thumb brushing against her clit as he brushes his lips against her shoulder, her breast, barely-there touches that result in gasps and sighs from her open lips. He captures her mouth with his own as she comes, arching into him, pale and dirty, but _real_.

 

***

 

He wakes to a strange sort of electricity in the air, the shiver crawling up his spine stirring him from the most peaceful sleep he's had since coming back to Sunnydale. His focus is drawn to Willow, sitting cross-legged on the floor, spine ramrod-straight, head tilted back, green eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The energy is emanating from her body, fluttering around the space in flickers and waves, a living thing—the most _alive_ thing he's encountered since his incarceration in hell—sucking the breath from his body, even as it creates a pulsation in his skin, along his spine.

It's amazing.

He crawls closer without even realizing, startled when she catches his hand with her own. The air catches in his chest as he feels the suction, a slow seeping of energy from his body.

"I'm sorry." For a moment her eyes meet his gaze, somehow managing to be both soft and hard at the same time. He feels the current pulling thorough his veins as the ends of her hair begin to levitate, fluttering in an invisible breeze, and he knows immediately how it's going to end.

Willow—his Willow, even if for only one night—has been scrimping and saving her magic, enduring torture of the worst kind, until it's _enough_. She's a supernova, and she's going to save the world.

"Don't be," he whispers, crowding close, arms and legs wrapping around, cradling her against his chest.

He presses a kiss to her neck and closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _FIN_.

**Now read with[Writer's Commentary](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/326030.html)**

 

 

 

 

 

 

  



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